


Each Step is the Wrong Direction

by TheWriterWhoNeverWrites



Series: The Montague Tales [2]
Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, But he's working on it, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Monty has low self esteem, Near Death Experiences, Rewrite, Self-Esteem Issues, but Percy gets shot so, nothing crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:21:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22749226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWriterWhoNeverWrites/pseuds/TheWriterWhoNeverWrites
Summary: "Percy.” I breathed, legs finally listening to my mind’s frantic commands to please move and bringing me to his side on the deck. He was sprawled on the ground, a couple feet from the bottom of the swivel gun that Ebraham had stationed us at when the first call of battle had been made. He was breathing, though there was pain in the movements, a hesitation before each breath was made. His hands were grasping around the left side of his chest, both red from the blood.God, the blood. Percy’s blood.**A rewrite of that scene from Ladies Guide, except from Monty's Perspective. All the angst and feels you expect
Relationships: Felicity Montague & Henry "Monty" Montague, Felicity Montague & Percy Newton, Henry "Monty" Montague & Percy Newton, Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton
Series: The Montague Tales [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729975
Comments: 11
Kudos: 53





	Each Step is the Wrong Direction

_ And suddenly I'm thinking of him, ill and helpless in Marçay and how poorly I had been able to deal with that. Now here he is knowing just what to do.  _

**_Perhaps everyone is born with this caring knack in them but me._ **

_ \- A Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue _

“Above you!”

The cry was muffled, as most things are for me now-a-days. Another bundle of syllables shoved together, made more difficult to understand by the heavy gun fire that surrounded us and the accent the words were being yelled through. The slur between words was slightly sharper, an emphasis on letters I wasn’t used to.

It is this that I blame for how long it took me to fully understand what those words meant.

I had been relearning how to listen to verbal speech since the events that led me to being one ear short, and each day spent in the bustle and business of the Elatheria gave me time to perfect the ability to distinguish between words quicker. Words that came from all directions, at different pitches, blown through the wind, and that the right side of my head no longer has access to.

I had gotten better at it, or at least that’s what Percy told me, but it was difficult to tell if that was honest feedback or just an attempt to make me feel less pathetic. 

But that didn’t matter. Because the only moment that it could have possibly mattered, that my rapid understanding of what someone was saying would actually be important, was right now. And it didn’t work.

I turned the moment that I understood, twisting backwards clumsily to reach for the gun that I was stationed beside, but I was pushed out of the way before I could fully fasten my grip on the handle. I stumbled back, catching myself on the edge of the boat as a sharp ringing started in my ear before I even heard the **BANG**. 

A dark hand shoved my shoulder, and without ceremony I found myself behind Sim, her head-scarf dark with soot and pulling at the corners, a gun in her hand and already firing. I followed the trail of her gun, finding it’s target just in time to watch a man fall backwards from his station. He had been hidden in the top corner of the british boat, close enough that I saw his gun drop to the ground as he collapsed.

A shiver passed over my body. I hadn’t even seen him, not a glimpse, and now he was dead. Killed in cold blood.

Battle was confusing for the mind. A mix of adrenaline, terror, and sorrow that was impossible to rectify or completely understand. As if the body couldn’t decide if it loved it or just wanted it to end. There was a horror in seeing that man die, in knowing that he likely had friends, family,  _ children _ that would mourn his loss. But in the same moment there was relief in knowing that if he had lived then someone that  _ I loved  _ could be dead. That I could be dead.

“Thanks.” I said

But Sim wasn’t looking at me, she was looking behind me. Her eyes seemed to widen for a fraction of a second before focusing, becoming hardened again. Before I even had a chance to see what she was looking at she was running down the deck, dodging past the broken splinters of the mainsail, and skidding towards the lower deck. I hesitated a second before turning. I knew which direction she was looking, I  _ knew  _ who was over there.

It was probably less than seconds that I paused, but when I finally did turn it was like the world blurred, as if time stopped. The gun fire, the screaming of the pirates, the shaking of the ship when a cannon was fired, my bloody legs  _ ability to move.  _ Stopped. 

“Percy.” I breathed, legs finally listening to my mind’s frantic commands to  _ please move _ and bringing me to his side on the deck. He was sprawled on the ground, a couple feet from the bottom of the swivel gun that Ebraham had stationed us at when the first call of battle had been made. He was breathing, though there was pain in the movements, a hesitation before each breath was made. His hands were grasping around the left side of his chest, both red from the blood. 

_ God, the blood. Percy’s blood. _

“Percy? Percy can you hear me? Perce?” My voice was frantic, no attempt made to hide the avalanche of absolute panic that had overcome me. I was grasping at his arms, his face, his shoulder, trying desperately to get some sort of response. His eyes were open, and I watched them focus on me before he spoke,

“Monty?”

I didn’t know what to do. I  _ never _ seemed to know what to do. Everyone else was so damn proficient and yet I still never know what the hell to do. 

I glanced around myself for a second, trying to find something,  _ anything _ that might give me a clue as to what to do next. My gaze bought me no such clues, and I brought a hand to my head, my fingers falling across the knit rim of the hat Percy had made me soon after we first moved to London.

_ The Hat. _

Without taking a second to think, I tore the hat off of my head and brought it towards his chest, gently peeling his hands away from his chest and pressing it against the wound instead. I tried not to think about the way Percy’s body flinched violently as I placed my hands overtop his to apply more firm pressure, or his groan of pain, or the  _ blood. _

_ Goddamn, why did there have to be so much blood? _

“Hey, hey you’re okay.” I found myself saying, voice cracking on the last word, “I’m right here Perce, you’re going to be alright.”

The words were made harder to get out by the fact that I didn’t know if I was lying.    
He smiled, though not as brightly as he normally would, pain and fear bleeding through his features, 

“Look at you, doctor Monty.” He croaked, thumb hooking underneath my hand and giving a slight squeeze   
“I had to have learned something from all of Felicity's nagging darling” I replied, attempting to smile back, but failing miserably. My own fear felt palpable. 

In that moment I found myself happy that that man had been killed. Happy that at the very least I would always know that the man who had  _ shot _ Percy was dead. Even if that made me a terrible person, even if it was  _ wrong _ to feel joy in the wake of another’s demise. In that moment I didn’t care. 

Because in that moment Percy was trying to grasp at my hand, but his grip was weak and loose. Because in that moment, I couldn’t t grasp his hand back, and instead had to take the time to push harder against him in an attempt to keep the blood  _ in  _ his body instead of out. Because I had to ignore how each slight movement of the ship as we rocked from the force of a cannon shot would cause him to cry out. Because I knew that if he  _ died _ that I would live my remaining days lost, purposeless, and with the knowledge that  _ I hadn’t seen that man in time _ . That I could have stopped all this from happening but I hadn’t. 

A bullet splintered across the deck a few feet from where we were sitting and I jumped, the realization that the battle was  _ still happening  _ hitting me like a shot. Reluctantly I pulled my hands away from Percy’s side, trying desperately to ignore the way he seemed to instinctively reach for my hand as I moved away. I held my hand to his shoulder for a moment, trying to catch his eyes. They locked on mine, unfocused but still aware,

“Keep holding down on there okay? And keep talking to me Perce. I’m-” I paused, waiting for the pit in my throat to pass before continuing, “I’ll be right here, alright?”

“Alright.” He replied, voice raspy and soft, but still there, “You’ll be my knight in shining armour, will you?”

A laugh fell across my lips without my consent and a smile, more real this time, crossed his lips. 

“Cheeky, you just want to see me in a suit of armour.” I shot back, trying to hold on to this brief moment of normalcy. He smiled again

With that image of Percy embedded in my mind I turned from him and grabbed the edge of the swivel gun. Tearing open one of the many powder bags I had on me open with my teeth, I ignored the burn of the ignition as I scanned the area around me, looking for a logical hit. A british soldier was standing on the deck across from me, off closer to the starboard side, and was focused on some pirates to the far left of me. I took my aim and fired, watching as wood splintered upwards from the impact and the man collapsed. He hadn’t even seen me.

It continued like that, but for how long I will never know. The way that time passes in battle is dizzying. Time seems to move so slowly as you attempt to find a new target, as you prepare the gun for another shot. And yet the moment that you light the ignition, the moment that you’re dodging frantically in an attempt to avoid an incoming bullet, time seems to pass in a matter of milliseconds. 

Whenever I had the mental capacity to remember to I would turn to Percy, almost as if to confirm to my brain that yes he’s still there, and _ yes _ he’s still breathing. The hat had started to fall further and further to the side as his grip loosened, eventually finding itself staining the deck crimson. 

His gaze was less and less focused with every check in, and when he was able to respond his words were slurred. His breathing seemed to be coming in higher and fuller rasps, as if all he wanted was to take a deep breath but his body wouldn’t let him. The sounds were becoming more and more desperate, and I found myself not wanting to check in anymore. I didn’t want to see it. Facing the fact that Percy was  _ dying _ , and that I couldn’t do anything about it wasn’t something I was prepared to handle. But each glimpse shoved that thought deeper into my mind.

_ Percy is dying _

_ Percy is dying _

_ Percy is dying, and you’re never going to get to speak to him, or kiss him or hold him ever again, and it’s all your fault because you’re pathetic and useless and you didn’t see that man. _

My thoughts were broken by the sound of scuffling behind me, and I turned quickly, gun raised, only to see Felicity crawling across the deck towards Percy’s slumped form. A bullet wedge itself couple feet from her and I heard her scream, bringing herself lower to the ground before continuing forward. I couldn’t stop staring at her, my mind stuck between  _ Oh thank God  _ and  _ Oh God no, not you too _ .

I watched the way that she observed him, her mind trying to work through what had happened. I saw her gaze fall to the bloody hat on the deck and I wanted to hit myself. I really was so useless in caring for others, nothing I ever did seemed to help. 

When I was given a spare second, a rare and likely brief pause in the chaos, I pulled myself down beside her where she had already started applying pressure to the wound. She glanced at me,

“There was a sharpshooter in their nest,” I explained before she had the chance to ask, “Sim took him out, but we didn’t notice until…”   
My voice cut off, coming out in what sounded far too close to a sob for my comfort so I paused. In my silence Percy’s breathing became more audible, the desperate, wet, gasping of it sending shivers up my arm, 

“And why is he breathing  _ like that? _ !” I couldn’t help but ask, “He was talking after it happened, and he wasn’t- he wasn’t breathing like that!” 

She didn’t answer me, turning instead towards the wound in his chest and examining it. I could almost  _ see _ the moment that she tuned out the world around her, the moment that she stopped being aware of the battle surrounding us and instead was focused solely on how to treat the problem in front of her. It was something that I’d come to admire about her, the way that she was able to take a problem and exert her entire being into solving it.

Well, it was usually a mix of admiration, jealousy, and mostly annoyance depending on the moment. But right now, it was purely admiration.

I pulled away from her and turned back to our surroundings, pulling the pistol I had been given out of my pocket and scanning the neighbouring ship. I fired a couple rounds, aiming towards some men on the distant side of the ship and missing by a couple feet. Their gaze fell to us, following the direction of my bullet and I scrambled for the extra bullets in my pocket. Ignoring the spray of bullets around me I pushed them into the holster, bringing up my arm for a second time and taking a second shot. I watched as the man closest to us fell to the ground, my second bullet missing the other once again. I watched as he took aim again and got ready to dodge, when he fell beside his partner, hit by one of our pirates farther down the deck.

“Monty!” Felicity’s voice pulled me out of my focus and I turned to her,

“I need something sharp!”   
I felt around myself, finding a sharp piece of metal wedged into the side of the swivel gun and passed it to her. She took it from my hands without hesitation and I continued to watch her, confused as to what she could need it for

Until she  _ stabbed _ Percy in the only side of his chest that was currently still functioning.

A sound that seemed to be a combination of a squeak and a yelp was pulled out of me, and I almost started to reach towards her before Percy started breathing. Not the wet gurgles he had been struggling to make before, but a clear, full, breath. 

I paused mid motion, staring at the rise and fall of Percy’s chest that finally looked somewhat close to normal. Paying me no mind, Felicity went back to treating the wound in the way I had seen her treat most other wounds. I didn’t know why what she had done had worked, I had no idea where she had even gotten the idea, but Percy was  _ breathing _ , and nothing else mattered then. 

The rest of the battle followed in a blur. When Felicity had finished dressing the wound she had addressed me with a quick,

“He should be alright.” Before heading back down the deck to wherever she was needed next. The  _ for now _ was left unspoken, but there was nothing to be done about that. 

The bullets continued to come in streams, the screams and yells from across both ships never ceasing. Until suddenly the English boat jerked un-naturally. And suddenly a ceasefire was called from the back of  _ our  _ ship. Cries of confusion rippled across the Elatheria, but the call was made a second time, with more force now, and immediately weapons were being dropped. 

I didn’t drop my pistol, but I let my hands fall away from the Swivel gun and  _ finally _ let myself fall beside Percy, with no intent of rising. 

HIs breaths had returned to normal, if not slightly quicker than usual. His eyes were closed, pinched slightly in pain, but when he felt my shoulder fall beside his he opened them and they were  _ clear.  _ Something concerningly close to hope started to bubble up in my chest that I couldn’t stamp down. 

Not wanting to jostle him more than necessary, I let my head fall to his shoulder despite the overwhelming urge to pull him into my chest and never let go. Luckily my desire for closeness wasn’t one sided, and I soon felt my hands being pulled into his. 

“Thanks” he muttered, words muffled by my hair as he turned his head towards me. I scrunched my eyebrows,

“I didn’t do anything except let you get shot! Felicity is the only reason that you’re still alive. I was rather useless as usual darling.” I drawled, trying to minimize the amount of self loathing in my voice. Too many emotions in too little of a time.

He made an unhappy sound, squeezing my hand in his grasp,

“Not your fault.” He slurred, eyes once again closed, “Y’protected us”

I don’t know if I believed him, didn’t think I could when I had come  _ so close _ to never hearing him speak again. But I didn’t argue. I let my head sink further into his side, grasping back at his hand as he leaned further into the side of the deck. 

Because whatever came next, for now he was here.

For now he was safe.

**Author's Note:**

> This scene really caught my attention in the book because it showed how much Monty had grown when it came to caring for other people, for knowing how to. I wanted to dig deeper into that, and then this happened!
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy <3


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